


More Real

by redcandle17



Series: Something Real [2]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Knifeplay, Non-Consensual Bondage, Orgasm Denial, Slit Lives, Turnabout is Fair Play, improvised cock ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/pseuds/redcandle17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-movie AU sequel to my non-con Slit/Toast fic "Feels Real". Toast finds Slit in the infirmary and has him chained to her bed with vague plans for revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

Toast is conducting her daily inspection through the infirmary. She hates thinking of the War Boys as things, as human machines powered by testosterone and made to fight. But the Buzzards are growing bolder. Today they came so close to the Citadel that Toast could see them with her naked eyes. They need the War Boys up and able to defend this new green place they’re creating.

A dozen of them had come limping home a few days after Furiosa killed Joe. They’d been suffering severe dehydration on top of the injuries they’d sustained during the fighting and they’d wearily accepted Furiosa’s authority. The War Pups had been permitted to help them to the infirmary, where they’d been recuperating since. 

Furiosa had sent out a group to start scavenging what they could from the wreck at the canyon pass, and Toast had gone with them. What she’d seen had sickened her. Dozens more wounded War Boys had been left behind to die slow deaths in the merciless desert sun. She wondered if the survivors who’d made it to the Citadel had even attempted to help their “brothers.” 

She pauses beside one cot, recognizing the War Boy lying unconscious. It’s him. The man with the knife who’d… He hadn’t raped her; he hadn’t dared to defy the order to leave her untouched for Immortan Joe. But he’d toyed with her, running his knife over her skin and using her as something to excite himself. He must have had bandages removed from his face since her last visit to the infirmary because Toast would have recognized his scarred and metal-pierced cheeks if she’d seen them. 

“Slit still needs a couple more days,” the Organic Mechanic says. He and Miss Giddy had survived unscathed; Joe had already sent them back to the Citadel before the battle at the pass. 

“Slit?” Toast questions.

The Organic Mechanic gestures with his chin. “That one there. That’s his name.”

Slit. Toast wonders if he was named for the scars on his face or for his fondness for blades. Or maybe it was just a name. She should just go on, let this War Boy heal until he was ready for them to send out to fight and maybe die all over again. 

Instead Toast hears herself commanding, “Move him up to my room.”

The Organic Mechanic’s eyes threaten to bulge out of his head. “Toast?”

Toast doesn’t like him, doesn’t like anybody who’d served as accomplice to Immortan Joe, except Miss Giddy and Furiosa. But he knows her. He’d tended to her during her pregnancy and then during her miscarriage. 

“Miss Toast,” she corrects him. “You heard me. Take this War Boy - Slit - out of here and up to my room.”

The Organic Mechanic looks like he wants to argue, but finally he nods. Toast takes one last look at the unconscious War Boy and then goes down to one of the repair bays. She rummages around herself before asking a Repair Boy for help. When she’s explained what she’s looking for, the Repair Boy tells her she can find it in the infirmary. 

Neither the Organic Mechanic or the scarred War Boy are there when she returns to the infirmary. It doesn’t take much searching to find one of the chains they used to use on the captives they made into “blood bags.” It’s a thick, sturdy chain, similar to the one that had connected the feral Max to the War Boy Nux the first time she saw them. 

The Organic Mechanic and a couple of little War Pup helpers are there when Toast goes up to her room in the Dome. The Organic Mechanic opens his mouth as if to protest when he sees the chain in her hands, but Toast silences him before he can speak. 

“Get out.”

The War Pups scurry away immediately and Toast is sorry her tone frightened them. But the Organic Mechanic follows them and Toast is glad she didn’t have to argue with him. She snaps a shackle shut around one of the War Boy’s wrists and runs the chain underneath the bed before shackling the other wrist, effectively binding him to the bed. 

It’s a real bed, like the ones Miss Giddy said everyone slept in Before. It’s one of the luxuries of the Dome that Joe had thought would make up for what he did to them. Toast forces that vile old man out of her thoughts. He’s dead. She saw Furiosa rip his head off. They have his body displayed out in front of the Citadel, so that people can see he was no god, only an evil man. 

Toast studies her captive. She’d thought the bed was big, but now with this War Boy lying on it, it seems small. His broad shoulders and long legs fill almost the whole bed. She hadn’t considered this. Truthfully, there wasn’t much she has considered about the situation. She supposes she’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight. 

She has duties to perform. Responsibilities. She can’t gawk at an unconscious man all day. He’ll still be here tonight. Toast closes her bedroom door behind her and fervently hopes none of her sister wives choose today to go looking for anything. 

She manages to get through the rest of her day like it’s any other day. The only disruption to her routine comes when Furiosa pulls her aside before dinner. 

“Organic tells me you’ve got a War Boy chained up in your room.” 

“I need to have a conversation with him that he may not be willing to have.” 

“Anything I should know?”

“No.”

That’s that. She can tell that Furiosa has doubts, but has decided to trust her. Toast feels warmed by Furiosa’s confidence in her. It strengthens her resolve, though she really doesn’t know what she’s doing. 

 

The War Boy, Slit, is murmuring and tossing his head restlessly when Toast returns to her room after dinner. He’s not conscious, just restless. Toast isn’t cruel. And if she makes him suffer, it will be when he’s conscious enough to know it and know why. She fills the cup on her bedside table with water and slides her hand under his head to raise it so he doesn’t choke when she puts the cup to his lips. 

Toast has become used to being clean in the years she’s lived in Joe’s harem. She’s been bathing every evening before going to bed since she returned to the Citadel a free woman and tonight is no different. 

Capable is already in the large pool of water that serves as a bath. Toast climbs in beside her, sighing at the sensation of being submerged in cool water. 

“The Pups tell me you had one of the War Boys brought to your room,” Capable says. Her voice is carefully bland, betraying no emotion or condemnation. 

“Uh-hmmm,” Toast confirms. She slides down and dunks her head beneath the water. 

“They say he rode on Nux’s car. He was Nux’s lancer.”

Toast wants to stay under water, doesn’t want to have this conversation with Capable, but her lungs are demanding air and she can’t escape it any longer. She surfaces and takes a deep breath. She supposes Capable feels concerned for Slit because of his connection to her beloved dead Nux. 

“They aren’t all like your War Boy,” she says. “They don’t all need a hug and a smile to become better men.” 

“They deserve a chance, though,” Capable reminds her. “They never knew anything but the smeg Joe put in their heads.” 

Toast cuts her bath short, climbing out of the pool and wrapping a towel around her body. “He’ll be all right,” she assures Capable. “I’m just going to keep him for a few days.” 

Slit is still and quiet when she returns. Toast touches his neck, feeling for his pulse to make sure he hasn’t died. He hasn’t. He’s alive and warm. Toast pulls her blanket off him to make a bed for herself on the floor, but in doing so, she exposes his naked body. She tries not to be offended that the Organic Mechanic left him naked in her bed. Modesty is in short supply in the Citadel and Toast supposes it makes changing his bandages and tending his injuries easier without trousers to get in the way. 

She considers just leaving him like that and spreading her blanket on the floor like she’d intended, but she can’t bring herself to do it. His body probably needs the extra warmth as it heals. So she covers him up again and lies down on the bare floor. However, after a few minutes of tossing and turning, Toast gives up. It’s her bed, and he’s safely chained down and unconscious anyway. 

She lies down carefully in the narrow space between his body and the edge of the bed. Toast falls asleep quickly and sleeps soundly, only awakening briefly as night turns into early dawn and it becomes cold. She slides under the blanket and is quickly fast asleep again. 

 

Toast is warm and comfortable snuggled against another body. She can feel a steady heartbeat beneath the chest she’s using for a pillow. She wants to drift back into blissful sleep, but she becomes aware that the body beside her is too large and too solid to be one of her sister wives. It can’t be Joe either; only poor Angharad ever had to suffer actually _sleeping_ with him. 

Then the haziness of sleep dissipates completely and Toast remembers yesterday. The scarred man with the knife - the War Boy Slit. She springs up off the bed. She needn’t have worried, though, he’s still unconscious. 

Well, most of him. Part of him is very much awake. Toast stares at his cock. It’s been a long time since she saw one other than Joe’s. This one is a good one. Long enough and thick enough to satisfy without being painfully big. No bumps or blisters. A nice, healthy cock. Toast wants to touch it.

And why not? The man it was attached to hadn’t asked her permission before getting between her legs and rubbing himself against her through their clothes. Toast hadn’t planned on taking that kind of revenge on Slit. No, not revenge, justice. It’s justice that she pays him back in kind, or rather, that she takes repayment from him. Toast decides that he owes her whatever pleasure she can take from his body. 

She wants him awake, though, and knowing who she is. Toast perches on the bed and slaps his face lightly. “War Boy! War Boy! Slit!”

He groans as he awakens. His eyelids flutter open and close several times before he can keep them open and it’s longer than that before he can focus his gaze. 

“Valhalla?” he asks.

Toast wants to laugh at him, to mock him for believing in an awful old man’s lies, but his question twists at her insides somehow. 

“Not Valhalla. You’re not dead.”

His gaze flitters around the room, taking in the sunlight coming in from the glass windows, the pitcher of water on the bedside table, and, finally, her. Toast expects a reaction when he recognizes her, but there’s none. 

“Do you know who I am?” she asks.

“One of Immortan Joe’s wives, one of the breeders Furiosa stole.”

“Is that all?”

He frowns, and she can almost see his brain working as he tries to remember what else he knows about her. 

“Toast the Knowing,” he says. 

She’s surprised he knows her name, but then Immortan Joe was his god. The War Boys probably memorized every bit of trivia they heard about him, including the names of his ever-changing roster of wives. 

“Just Toast,” she says. “Miss Toast to you.” 

He tugs at his shackled arms. “Why am I chained? Furiosa said we were welcome.”

Toast is upset. “You don’t remember?”

“Because I was in the war party that brought you here?” He sounds confused, as if he honestly doesn’t understand why she would be upset about having her home destroyed and being forced into slavery. Maybe he doesn’t. He’d worshipped Joe as a god; maybe he thinks she should have been honored to be one of the god’s wives. 

Toast pours a cup of water and helps him to drink. Then she dresses for the day and opens the door to leave, pausing to look back at him over her shoulder. “You try to remember or I’ll have to help you,” she tells him, making it a threat. 

 

She’d planned to stay away until evening, but Toast finds herself going to check on her captive at noon. She’d taken him away from the Organic Mechanic’s care, so she was going to have to take care of him herself. 

He’d been sleeping, but he wakes instantly when the door opens. He tries to spring out of bed, but the chains prevent him from even sitting up fully. Damn. It occurs to her that he’ll eventually need to do certain things. No, absolutely not. Toast wasn’t going to help him pee or wipe his ass. 

She closes the door again without a word and goes down to the infirmary. “Go check on him and take care of his needs,” she orders the Organic Mechanic. “But don’t you dare release him.” 

The Organic Mechanic nods. “You got something against him, or you just want any War Boy to torture?”

It feels like a slap in the face. Toast isn’t some kind of monster. But the Organic Mechanic aided and abetted Joe, and Toast does not owe him an explanation. “We have history,” she says, just so he’ll do as she asked and not run to Furiosa again. 

That evening, instead of eating with her sisters, Toast takes her dinner to her room, along with a second plate of food for her captive. She finds him awake and looking furious. The bed seems to have moved further away from the window and Toast guesses that Slit has been wrenching at his shackles for some time. 

“Don’t waste your energy trying to break free,” she advises him. “You need your strength to heal.” 

He looks at her, confused and wary, and Toast guesses he’s wondering how she can worry about his health while keeping him in chains. 

“We still need War Boys to fight,” she says. 

“I’ll fight,” he says. “I can do war now.” 

“In the state you’re in? The Buzzards would send you to Valhalla in mere seconds. We need you Boys to fight and _survive_. There’ll be more fights to come.” 

“Are you going to feed me or just talk at me?”

Toast makes him wait until she’s finished her dinner before she sits beside him and feeds him. She tries not to think about how intimate it is, about how this is normally an act of care. She consoles herself with the knowledge that he probably hates being dependent on her. 

“Do you remember yet?” she asks.

“Remember what?”

Toast holds the cup of water while he drinks. 

“I’m going to bathe. You’d better hope you remember by the time I get back.”

“Remember _what_?” he asks again, sounding frustrated, when Toast returns to her bedroom damp and towel-wrapped. 

There are no locks on the doors within the vault. Toast hopes her sisters will respect her privacy, no matter what they hear. She unwraps the towel and lets it drop to the floor. Watches as Slit’s expression instantly changes to lust. 

She retrieves the knife she’d claimed from among Joe’s personal possessions and climbs onto the foot of the bed. She climbs up the bed, up Slit’s body, slowly. She holds the sharp blade against his throat. “Remember now?”

“Of course I remember,” he snaps. “I asked you if this was about that and you said no.”

Toast frowns. This wasn’t what she was expecting. “You did not,” she argues. She puts the tip of the knife just under his eye, and is disappointed when she doesn’t see any fear there. There’s only anger and something else she doesn’t recognize. 

“You even know how to handle a blade, breeder?”

“Not really,” Toast purrs. “I could cut your throat without even meaning to.” She drags the knife carefully down the center column of his throat. “You should hold very still so you don’t get cut.” 

She pulls back the blanket and trails the blade all the way down his chest and abdomen, down to his cock. Which is hard. Toast hadn’t expected him to like being on the other end of the knife just as much as he liked wielding it himself. 

His erection doesn’t flag when she begins running the knife along the length of his cock. In fact he gets harder. “Should cut it off,” she murmurs, but it’s an idle threat and he seems to know it. Toast is surprised by her desire to touch it - him. To take him into her mouth even. 

She journeys back up his body, pausing to trace the tip of the blade between one nipple and the other. She’s tempted to carve her name into his chest. She can almost see the letters a bright bloody red against his pale skin. And if he wasn’t still mending from serious injuries and they didn’t need all the War Boys they had left at full strength, she’d have done it. She settles for worrying one nipple between her teeth, slowly, making him anticipate the pain of a bite. 

The bite never comes. Instead she twists his other nipple as hard as she can, startling a sound surely too masculine to be called a gasp out of him. Toast wants to cause him some pain, but she’s out of ideas that won’t actually harm him. Her hands skim his sides and she feels the metal he has embedded in his torso. Really, she wouldn’t be able to stomach doing anything to him worse than the things he’s already done to himself. 

She’ll have to settle for teasing him and forcing him to go without satisfaction. Toast sets the knife safely on the bedside table and makes herself comfortable atop Slit. She considers asking him whether his name has anything to do with the scars bisecting his cheeks, but it may be too personal a question depending on the answer. 

She kisses him, hoping he won’t try to bite. He doesn’t. Toast kisses him slowly, lazily. She’d forgotten what a sweet, simple pleasure kissing was. Slit is impatient for more thorough kisses, but whenever he kisses her hard, Toast eases her mouth away from his, until he stops trying to control their kissing. 

She wants to feel his hands on her breasts, but he can’t be trusted, so she settles for rubbing her chest against his. The men in her family had hair on their chests, but the War Boys have smooth chests, like their heads aren’t the only part of them they shave. 

Toast teases Slit until she can’t stand it anymore. She slips her hand between her legs, intending to bring herself off, but then she realizes she doesn’t have to settle for her hand _and_ she can torment him some more. 

His cock is jutting straight up, but Toast flattens it against his abdomen and begins sliding back and forth against it. His breathing is ragged, but he doesn’t beg. Toast is so close. She no longer cares about teasing Slit. She wants this nice cock inside her, no matter that it belongs to him. 

“Valhalla,” he mutters, as she sinks down onto him. 

Toast doesn’t want to give him Valhalla, but depriving him now means depriving herself and she wants this more than she doesn’t want him to have it. She rolls her hips, discovering which movements feel best for her. That way causes his cock to rub against the front of her insides most exquisitely. 

War Boys are no good at being passive, though, and he soon begins to thrust up into her. Too quickly. He’s going to come before she’s ready and Toast doesn’t know how to stop him without stopping it for herself as well. She racks her brain for everything she knows about the War Boys. 

“Mediocre,” she says. “Mediocre, Slit.”

His hips still. She can hear him huff in outrage. It’s full dark outside now and she hadn’t thought to light a candle before she started playing with her captive. She could pretend he was someone else, that it was someone else’s cock in her, but she finds that she doesn’t want to. The men she knew before the Citadel are memories increasingly distant and it feels traitorous to Furiosa to even think about Max that way. The man beneath her is as good as any she’ll find here. 

Toast intends to climb off Slit as soon as she’s come, to deny him his own orgasm. But he’s a mere heartbeat behind her as she comes and she’s too lost in the overwhelming pleasure to unseat herself from him. She lets herself fall forward onto his chest. None of this has gone the way she intended, but she feels too damn good to care right now. 

She awakens some time later and doesn’t remember drifting to sleep. She’s still on top of Slit and he’s still inside her. And he’s hard again. There’s a thin sliver of moonlight coming through the window, just enough to see Slit’s face. He’s asleep. 

Toast uses her fingertip to trace the scars on his cheek, ever so lightly so she won’t wake him. She finds herself thinking that he used to be one of those little War Pups, unscarred and heartbreaking with their wide, wary eyes. It had to be a brutal process by which they grew up into men like this one. Toast is glad they didn’t find the green place after all, that she and the others ended up back here to free everyone else from Joe. 

She carefully climbs off Slit and picks the blanket up off the floor. She drapes the blanket over him and then crawls in beside him, sliding her arm around his middle and resting her head on his shoulder. Tomorrow she isn’t going to go so easy on him. Tomorrow she’s going to get her pound of flesh.


	2. Part 2

Toast misses her second shot of the morning. She’s embarrassed that the Vuvalini are spending their time teaching her how to shoot only for her to fail them. She’s upset that she’s wasted two bullets so far when no one knows when they’ll be able to establish trade with the Bullet Farm. Most of all, she’s angry at herself for being distracted and for the cause of her distraction.

She’d found the scarred man with the knife and she’d had him at her mercy, and what had she done? Some revenge. She’d given him the best night of his life probably. 

“Let’s take a break,” the older of the two Vuvalini women says. 

“Something bothering you, dear?” the other asks Toast. 

It’s bothering her that not only had she fucked Slit, but she really, really wanted to fuck him again. If only there was a way for him not to enjoy it. Or at least… “Is there a way to prevent a man from getting off?” she blurts quickly, before she has a chance to be too embarrassed to ask. 

Gen blinks. She looks amazed to be asked such a thing. 

Patrice is chuckling. “Have yourself a premature ejaculator, do you?”

“I don’t know much about cocks,” Gen says, with a certain amount of distaste. 

“She can’t help you with this,” Patrice says, still chuckling. “But luckily for you I can.”

“So what do I do?”

“You’d need a cock ring, but seeing as there aren’t any sex toy shops around anymore, you’d have to improvise one yourself. Maybe find a piece of cord or a thin strip of cloth. You tie it tight around the bottom of the cock and balls after he gets an erection. He won’t be able to come until you untie it.”

That sounds perfect. Toast can’t keep a smile off her face. She picks back up the rifle, steadies it against her shoulder, waits for the pause between breaths, and gently squeezes the trigger. The string of tin cans serving as a target spins. A perfect hit. 

 

The Organic Mechanic is leaving the vault when Toast goes to check on Slit. “I gave him a sponge bath for you,” he says, leering. 

Toast resists the desire to kick him in the balls. They need him; no one else has half the medical knowledge he has. But it isn’t easy having him walk around free and unrepentant. She remembers too well his mocking commentary as he examined their cunts for Joe cycle after cycle. 

“How long you gonna keep him chained like that? The muscles in his arms and shoulders are going to get damaged if his range of motion is restricted like that for much longer. He’s a lancer - he needs those particular muscles in top shape to do his job. You girls still want the Boys to do their jobs, right, Toasty?”

“Don’t call me that.” She takes a step towards him and is pleased when the Organic Mechanic steps back as if afraid of what she’ll do to him. 

“Yeah, _Miss_ Toast, I got it. Sorry.”

Toast lets him go and goes to stand outside her bedroom door. She stands there for several long minutes, arguing with herself inside her head, and eventually she leaves without ever opening the door. 

 

Toast is greeted by a frightening look on Slit’s face when she brings him his dinner. It takes her a moment to realize that he’s smiling. She imagines the sight must send little children running in fear. 

“Take off these chains.” He sounds almost pleasant. 

And why shouldn’t he be, she thinks sourly. He’s probably expecting a repeat of last night. 

“C’mon, I won’t go anywhere.” His voice is wheedling, almost flirtatious. 

“No,” she replies curtly. “Eat.” 

He looks directly at her as he accepts the spoonful of food she shoves into his mouth. Toast is the one who can’t meet his gaze and it grates on her nerves. She isn’t the guilty party here. She’s not giving in to the desire to release the shackles and let the man go. For one thing, she’s certain the moment the shackles came off, she’d find herself on her back with his cock inside her. 

It’s not as unpleasant a prospect as it should be. Toast grits her teeth and practically shoves the spoon down Slit’s throat. He coughs, choking. Toast refuses to feel guilty as she gives him water. 

She takes a very long bath that evening and by the time she finally climbs out of the pool, she feels much more relaxed. She’s further mollified to see that Slit doesn’t look as sure of himself as he did earlier. 

She makes herself comfortable on top of him and kisses him hesitantly. He’s cooperative, kissing her back without being demanding. Toast loses herself in the kisses. It reminds her of a time long before the Citadel, when she was young and fairly innocent, of a boy she’d kissed for what had seemed like hours because they were too young and shy to go further. 

But she can feel hard muscles beneath her hands, reminding her that this is no sweet young boy. And she is no innocent girl now. She hovers above Slit, her breasts within reach of his mouth. He surges up to capture a nipple, sucking at it hard. Toast moans.

She half-expects to be bitten, but he moves over to the other nipple without biting. Toast doesn’t want this to ever stop. But the sensations shoot straight down to her cunt and soon she needs more. She straddles his face, knees on either side of his head, holding onto the headboard to help keep her balance. “Lick,” she says, and it comes out more of a plea than a command.

But he obeys nonetheless. It’s tentative, and Toast is sure he’s never done this before, but he tries to do exactly as he’s been told. 

“There,” she hisses. “Yes, like that.” 

Toast gasps breathlessly. So close, so close. Then his tongue slides into her and he’s licking her _inside_ , and that pushes her over the edge. 

She climbs off him and off the bed entirely to sit slumped on the floor. She sees Slit licking his lips when she raises her head. He gives her what she supposes is meant to be a smile. 

“Come here.”

“You’re not the one giving orders,” she reminds him. 

“It’s your bunk. Don’t know why you’d want to be down there when it’s nice and soft up here.”

His cock certainly isn’t soft. It’s as hard as Toast has ever seen it. “Bed,” she corrects absently. “That’s a bed, a real one, with a mattress, not a bunk.” 

“Mattress?”

“The thing on the bed that makes it soft and comfortable.”

The War Boys sleep on shelves carved into the walls of the caverns that house them. But at least they’d gotten to come and go, could leave the Citadel and drive off into the desert, even if it was on raids. It was better than being locked in a vault for whenever a vile old man felt like raping her. 

The last light of the day is nearly gone, so Toast lights a cluster of candles. An idea occurs to her. She picks up a single candle and carries it over to Slit. She holds it above him and tilts it, letting the hot wax drip onto his chest. 

His breathing gets heavier but he doesn’t say anything. She wonders if he likes it, or if she’s finally found something he won’t enjoy. She drips the wax into shapes, then into letters, spelling out her name low on his abdomen, just above his cock. His erection doesn’t flag in the least, though, so she has to conclude that he does like it. 

She considers touching the flame directly to the metal embedded in his torso and face, heating it painfully hot, but it’s too cruel and she’s disgusted with herself for even thinking it. Toast puts the candle back beside the others and retrieves the strip of leather cord she borrowed from Capable. 

“What-” Slit begins to ask, when she ties the cord tightly around the base of his cock and balls, but he doesn’t finish the question. She imagines he thinks a little pain is all there is to it. 

Toast decides to get some more kissing done before he realizes the real purpose of her improvised cock ring and becomes too dangerous. But first she peels off the now cooled wax. 

“You’re smeg at torture,” Slit says suddenly, startling her. 

It’s true. She’s too soft-hearted to actually torture him. But she sounds tough to her own ears when she replies, “Maybe I haven’t been trying.”

He snorts. “Then what have you been trying exactly? I’ve enjoyed your little games more than you.”

Toast sighs irritatedly. Why is he so chatty tonight? Worse, he’s more perceptive than she expected him to be. She straddles him and leans in close. “Shut up,” she tells him, before she kisses him. 

He nips at her lip. Not too hard, but enough to make it clear that he’s no longer being docile. Fine, Toast is happy to make him regret it. She sits back on her heels and studies him in the flickering candlelight. His body is simply perfect - broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, all well muscled - beautiful despite the bizarre scarified art and the war wounds marring it.

She licks a line from just above his bellybutton all the way up to his throat. She sinks her teeth into the side of his neck, biting hard, wanting to leave her own mark on him. Slit makes an appreciative sound and the chain rattles as he jerks at his shackles. Toast smirks at him; she’s just getting started. She licks the length of his cock from base to tip before sucking on the head. 

“Fuck!” he curses loudly. 

She takes as much of him into her mouth as she can, curious how much she can take and enjoying the sounds he’s making. She keeps going even as he realizes the purpose of the band tied around his cock after being unable to come and he begins snarling threats. Some of what he says is War Boy slang unfamiliar to her, but his tone makes the meaning clear enough. 

At this point every other word he’s uttering is profanity and Toast thinks amusedly that the Dag would love to learn some of those phrases. When she finally stops and sits up, the look on his face suggests he wants to kill her more than fuck her now. She laughs and straddles his hips, slowly sinking down onto his cock. 

She’s come twice by the time she’s tired enough to stop. The cord around Slit’s cock is tied too tightly to untie, so Toast has to grab Joe’s knife - her knife now - to carefully cut it. She thinks about teasing him with the knife a little, but she doesn’t want to risk him coming. 

Toast blows out the candles, settles herself beside Slit, and covers them both with the blanket. It’s been a great night. She curls into Slit, her fingers absently stroking the scars on his side. “And that,” she murmurs to him, “Is how it feels to have someone use you as a thing.”


End file.
